


Pink

by katrinawritesthings



Category: SHINee
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrinawritesthings/pseuds/katrinawritesthings
Summary: the one where taemin has a breakdown in the laundromattumblr





	Pink

Jonghyun doesn’t get why no one likes going to the laundromat. He asks people if they want to come with, but all he ever gets is groans and half-assed excuses that he shrugs off with an air of _your loss_. He thinks they’re fun, nice and relaxing, always smelling nice, always warm. It’s a quiet hour or two of his week away from the rest of the business of his life, where he can sit down and listen to the machines whirr and rumble with their loads and figure out the Sunday crossword puzzle, maybe watch some people do their things.

The people watching in particular can get very interesting, in his opinion, especially when the people are as cute as the man shuffling into the building now. Jonghyun sneaks a peek up from his crossword puzzle, eyeing up the stranger as he wanders passed him. Soft looking black hair in a strangely attractive middle part frames a soft face, round cheeks, puffy lips, and an angled jawline. He has that typical stressed college student look, eye bags and mussed clothes, shrouded in a long dark jacket and tight skinnies. Jonghyun offers a polite smile and a bob of the head and gets a brief attempt at a smile in return. He looks to be about twenty, if Jonghyun had to put a number on him.

Usually he doesn’t stare at people as they do their laundry, but this boy is just too cute to take his eyes away from so quickly. Another minute couldn't hurt, right? Right. He peeks at him over his crossword as he shuffles to washer number seventeen, just a few down from where Jonghyun is sitting. The boy opens it up tiredly, reaching inside for the first garment to go into the dryer next to it.

He pulls out something faintly pink, frowns, and reaches inside for something else. That comes out as pink too. Shirts, pants, socks, sweaters, everything the boy tugs to the opening of the washer is a soft pink. Jonghyun quirks a smile; it looks nice against the boy’s skin and he appreciates a guy that will wear pink. The boy tosses a pink sock back into the machine, puts his face in his hands, and lets his head fall against the rim of the machine with a thunk that Jonghyun can hear from where he’s sitting. He frowns, concerned; the boy slides down to the floor, where he falls back to lean against the washer below his, buries his face in his knees, and stays there.

Oh.

Jonghyun looks at him uncertainly, lowering his crossword to his lap. The kid is just sitting there, washer door hanging open, curling more and more into himself as the seconds pass. Putting his crossword on his bag next to him, Jonghyun looks around, realizing that no one else has noticed. Should he just ignore him…? The thought barely even enters Jonghyun’s mind before he pushes it away. He can’t just leave someone like that. He gets up, checking his bag quickly before edging closer to the boy.

“Um,” he says, not really having a plan. He inches closer, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you… are you okay?” he asks, for lack of a better question. He expects a sniffle, a weak shake of the head, and maybe a mumble or two; what he doesn’t expect is an outburst.

 _“No,_ I’m not-- _fucking_ okay,” the boy grinds out, voice rough and much louder than it should be in a laundromat. Jonghyun winces. Shit. The boy’s hands lift to his hair, tangle in the strands and pull. “I’m fucking--I’m _incompetent_ and a _dipshit_ and I’m fucking--I’m fucking _useless_ and just--fuck, _fuck, FUCK_ \--” He lifts his head just enough to bash it back down against his knees. Jonghyun can’t tell, but he’s sure that some of this poor kid’s hairs have probably parted from his scalp by now. He hesitates, looking from the huddled ball of person to a pink piece of wet cloth still dangling from the washer.

Oh.

Those aren’t… they’re not supposed to be pink, are they? He bites his lip. Shuffling a little bit closer, he sits himself down gently next to the boy, not so close that they’re touching, but close enough to provide comforting support.

“Hey, um, it’s okay, you know?” he says softly. It suddenly dawns on him that he’s never given a motivational speech before and he’s gonna have to wing this whole thing. “It’s just some clothes, yeah? Everyone makes mis--”

“It’s not just the _clothes!”_ The boy lifts his head up as his voice cracks and wow, does he look different from just a few minutes ago. His eyes are red and puffy, skin blotchy, hair mussed and ruined from his fingers. He takes a sharp breath and puts his face back into his knees. Jonghyun doesn’t even open his mouth to ask before the boy looks up and starts again.

“It’s fucking--my _college_ and my _classes_ and it’s such fucking _bullshit_ \--I don’t even know why I’m taking half of my fucking classes--fucking--physics? _Calculus?_ Yeah, with a whopping _eight fucking percent_ on my last test--” He pauses for just a moment to press his palms into his eyes. “I’m not even taking a fucking lit course like I wanted because my fucking--I fucking _despise_ my mother but I’m too fucking _whipped_ to do anything about it so I just _sit_ on it and _seethe_ about it for _hours_ when I should be fucking _sleeping_ because it’s not like I don’t get enough sleep in the first fucking place--” His fingers thread through his hair again and he tugs, painfully by the way he winces. He lets his head fall back against the washer behind them with another painful thunk. “And _now_ ,” he growls, “I’m just the fucking _nutjob_ having a fucking _breakdown_ in the fucking _laundromat_ because I’m too fucking incompetent to wash some fucking clothes without _fucking it up!”_

He bashes the back of his head against the metal once more before letting it fall back against his knees. Jonghyun can hear him breathing deeply through his nose and he seems to be curling even more into himself than before. He looks up, glancing around quickly; people are staring. He grimaces, then looks back at the kid. Slowly, hesitantly, he slips closer to him and slides his arm around his shoulders comfortingly. He’s not too sure how this guy feels about personal space, but he isn’t shifting away and Jonghyun knows that he himself would at least appreciate an arm around the shoulder right now.

“Hey, it’s…,” he starts, unsure. “It’s okay,” he says gently. “You… you didn’t mean to mess up the clothes. It was just something red that got tangled up with the rest, you know? You just didn’t notice it. It’s not your fault.” This is good, right? He’s doing well.  The boy kind of just sniffles. Jonghyun shifts to get a little more comfortable on the tile, trying to figure out what to say next.

“And… you know… we’re good at things and we’re bad at things,” he says, grimacing at the cliché. “You’re just… not good at where you are in your classes right now. And that’s not bad,” he continues, squeezing the boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “They’re just not your areas of expertise. And… well, you said you wanted to take a literature class, right?” he asks. “So you’re probably really good at like. Reading and writing and stuff.” He shrugs. He’s really just winging this. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job. At least he’s not making it worse.

Well--he thinks. He’s not too sure, because the boy isn’t reacting to anything he’s saying. He pouts, not entirely put out yet.

“Um,” he says. What else is there? “Um… and… not to go assuming, or anything, but… you look like you could make a _delicious_ grilled cheese sandwich.” He shakes the boy lightly with a tiny little laugh. He’s not even lying. This boy had a prime grilled cheese making face. He still doesn’t reply, though, or give Jonghyun any sign that he’s even listening. He sniffles quietly. Well, shit. Jonghyun sighs, looking at the mussed hair at the back of this kid’s head, then up around at the rest of the laundromat (thankfully, everyone has stopped staring), and finally up above them, where light pink clothes are still dangling out of the machine.

He stands up, reaching for the dryer next to the washer and opening it up. He takes the damp clothes out of the first machine and transfers them to the second, shaking them out lightly. It’s all regularly white things; tanks tops, a pair of skinnies, pillowcases… a beat up old gym shirt from a local high school finally gives Jonghyun a name: Taemin. He glances down at Taemin; he’s still got his face in his knees. He stays that way until Jonghyun finishes moving his laundry and starts digging in his pockets for change. At the first jingle of quarters, Taemin sniffles and blearily looks up at him, a little frown on his lips, cheeks smudged with wetness.

“Hey, no, don’t,” he mumbles, reaching up weakly to swat at Jonghyun’s hands. Jonghyun flaps his hands away gently.

“No, come on,” he says. “You could use a break.” Jonghyun doesn’t mind one tiny bit about paying for one dryer cycle of some poor college kid in the middle of a breakdown. “Here,” he says, pressing something into Taemin’s hand instead. “Dry your tears.” Taemin takes it; Jonghyun sees his face change from mild confusion to heavy confusion.

“Is this a fucking dryer sheet?” he asks, feeling its texture. Jonghyun puffs his lips out in a pout. Rude.

“Who brings tissues to a laundromat?” he grumbles. “Work with me here, they’re the best I’ve got.” He focuses back on fitting quarters through the little slot on the machine. He hears another sniffle, and then… what sounds suspiciously like a tiny chuckle. He smiles to himself. Good. He sets the dryer up with all of Taemin’s newly pink clothes and sets it going before he turns back to look at him. He’s got the tiniest, tiniest little smile on his lips and he’s pretending like he’s not sniffing the dryer sheet. Cute.

“Here,” Jonghyun says, reaching down to take Taemin’s hands. “Come sit with me,” he offers. “You can help me with my crossword.” He smiles brightly, but still softly; nothing is worse than someone that’s too cheery. He tugs Taemin gently to his feet, where the college boy dabs at another bit of wetness under his eye before giving Jonghyun a little nod.

“Sure,” he murmurs.

Great.

Taemin follows Jonghyun back to his bench, slouches down at the opposite end and rubs his hands over his face. Well, it’s not the ideal result of his little pep talk, but it is something. Jonghyun smiles, getting comfy and picking up his crossword again.

“Okay, so… I never really finish these, but… maybe with your help I’ll be able to,” he says, smiling at Taemin over the paper. Taemin sniffles, gives a little shrug, mumbles something that might be a “maybe.” Well… good enough. He pokes through the numbers for a word that he’s been stuck on. “Oh--here--‘So it goes,’ eight letters… two N’s?” He pouts at the paper, and then up at Taemin hopefully. Taemin’s face is quickly changing from puzzlement to realization, accomplishment.

“Vonnegut,” he says. “Kurt Vonnegut, from Slaughterhouse-Five. Really funny book.” He smiles at his hands, plays with his own fingers. Jonghyun feels his lips quirk up in amusement at Taemin’s amusement. He kind of has a weak spot for cute boys that really like books. He scribbles in the word, not doubting for a second that it might be wrong.

“Next word,” he mumbles, looking for another one that’s been puzzling him. “This one is… ‘sleepwalking; during sleep,’ fourteen fucking letters, ends in ‘tory?’” He can’t even begin to fathom this one, but--

“Somnambulatory,” Taemin says almost immediately. Jonghyun blinks at him. What. He’s never heard that word before in his life. He writes it down anyway, putting his full trust into this college boy.

“You have such a good vocabulary,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. Taemin hums something vaguely in the affirmative and sniffles quietly, keeping his eyes down at his hands. Jonghyun catches the pinkish tint to his cheeks, though, and it makes his grin turn wider. He’s making progress.

They sit there for a good ten minutes, in which Jonghyun scoots closer to Taemin halfway through to show him the letters of an unfinished word and Taemin puts his hand on Jonghyun’s wrist to see better. He doesn’t take it away after he tells Jonghyun the word and Jonghyun _really_ wants to stay there because Taemin’s hand is really soft and warm, but he can't. His phone starts vibrating in his pocket, telling him that his clothes have finished washing. He curses under his breath, smiles apologetically at Taemin and sets his crossword down.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, smiling softly when Taemin nods in understanding. He hurries to his washer a row behind their bench quicker than he normally would, tosses everything into the dryer next to it with much less care than usual, and sets it going for half an hour. He’s back to Taemin in record time, mildly proud of himself as he sits down. Taemin gives him a bigger grin than before, and in this one, Jonghyun detects some amusement in it. “Hey,” he says, figuring that he doesn’t mind if Taemin is judging him, as long as he’s smiling.

“Hi,” Taemin replies. “You put down ‘principle’ instead of ‘principal,’ here.” He points at a row on Jonghyun’s crossword. “It’s been fucking up your other words.” He watches, little grin growing wider as Jonghyun frowns and squints at his crossword. Oh. So he did. He shrugs, flipping his pencil to erase the misspelled word.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says, giving Taemin a wink that makes his little smile turn from smug to embarrassed, makes his cheeks tint pink again. He brings a hand up to rub his nose and looks down.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. Jonghyun winks again, for good measure. It’s another fifteen minutes of small talk and compliments and a vocabulary that Jonghyun doesn’t think he’ll ever stop marvelling at before his phone vibrates against his butt again. He looks at it for a moment, confused, before he realizes.

“That’s yours,” he tells Taemin, pointing at his dryer. Taemin’s smile falters a little bit as he glances over to the machine full of pink clothes.

“Oh,” he mumbles. Jonghyun smiles sympathetically.

“Do you want me to…?” he offers. He’d understand if Taemin really didn’t feel like getting up right now. Taemin sighs, though, and gets to his feet, waving Jonghyun’s offer away.

“No, I got it,” he says. He fumbles in his bag for a moment and pulls out another bag, flapping it out and shuffling over to his dryer with it. Jonghyun sees his shoulders rise and fall with another heavy sigh as he opens the machine, but when he shuffles back a minute later, his eyes are dry and he’s got a resigned look. Jonghyun gives him a little shrug.

“I think the pink looks nice against your skin,” he says helpfully. The corner of Taemin’s lips quirks a little bit before he sits back down, pulls out a fluffy pink towel, drapes it over himself, pulls out another pink article of clothing, and starts to fold. Jonghyun chuckles softly. Of course he’d be a warm laundry hog. Taemin waves off his offers to help before he can even voice them, so he just goes back to his crossword, to asking Taemin for the answer to every other question.

Taemin is really cute. Like, super adorable, even with his puffy eyes and mussed hair. He smiles little smiles when he knows a word, his fingers are slightly clumsy as he folds, and every so often he just snuggles down and fixes his warm towel so its covering more of him. He keeps his voice low and quiet and really, it’s a deep, almost husky tone that Jonghyun wouldn’t expect from such a pretty face. They sit comfortably together until Jonghyun is almost finished with his crossword and Taemin is almost done putting his folded laundry neatly back into his bag, and that’s when Jonghyun’s phone alarm goes of for a third time.

“Be right back,” he says again, leaving his crossword in his spot. He grabs his laundry basket and strolls to his dryer.Once there, he takes a leaf from Taemin’s book and nuzzles into his favorite warm sweater before tossing it into the basket. He thinks maybe, sometime later, they could have warm laundry snuggles, like, together. He’ll have to ask Taemin out first for that to work, but that’s not really a problem. Grabbing his laundry basket, he slips back around the row of machines and to their bench, only to find that only his crossword and bag are the only things there.

He stops, put out, rejected. Glancing at the door, he sees a mussed head of black hair shouldering outside. Oh.

He sighs as he sits back down, listlessly pulling out his laundry to start folding. Maybe he’s not Taemin’s type. Or, maybe Taemin didn’t think he was anything other than a friendly stranger. Maybe he lost track of time and had to be somewhere like, _right now_? Maybe--whatever. Jonghyun sighs, dejected. Then he glances down at his crossword, frowning uncomfortably. He kind of sat on half of it and the pencil is digging into his thigh. When he picks it up to move it, he notices something different. Up at the top, above all of the boxes, is handwriting that he doesn’t recognize as his own.

“Thanks,” it says.

And under that, a phone number.


End file.
